


The Alliance

by la_plus_heureuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Becoming lovers along the way, Contains non-con, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hermione and Ron are good friends, I will not stand for Ron slander, Marriage Law AU, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Tags have been updated, The non-con is typical of marriage law stories, fighting the law, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_plus_heureuse/pseuds/la_plus_heureuse
Summary: What do you do when a law forces you to wed your worst enemy? Form an alliance and overthrow the law, of course. Dramione, Marriage Law AU, WIP.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 29
Kudos: 139





	1. The News

Hermione always met up with her friends for dinner on Wednesday nights. Other nights happened, but Wednesday night was sacred in their schedule. Missing a Wednesday night dinner was borderline unthinkable, allowable only in the most extreme of circumstances.

On this particular Wednesday it was just before six and Magical Law was half empty. Hermione was a good fit for Magical Law. Her work ethic was admired, but not out of the ordinary. Her coworkers were just as ambitious as she was. And her boss noticed when she worked hard, and encouraged her to take the time she earned off. She was a researcher, which was a fairly new position. It was her job to work on laws that were being introduced. She looked into the precedent, noted on the morals of the law, and made sure that they were airtight. Her recommendations were usually heeded. She was good at her job. She liked it. She saw her future in the department clearly. Researcher, head of research, undersecretary, head of the department, and then. The Ministry was ripe for her taking in fifteen to twenty years.

She headed out the atrium to the floo, where she saw people gathered in clusters, looking at a paper. Multiple clusters. No one she knew, but the configuration was confusing. They were all frowning, whispering, shaking their heads. Hermione felt a sort of prickling all over her body, like she used to during the war. 

She stepped into the floo, and reappeared in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. 

_The Evening Prophet_ was sitting on Harry’s kitchen table. Ron was scowling and Harry was reading with deep furrows between his brow.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked. She could hear her heart starting to pound in her head. 

“You’re not going to like it,” Harry said, looking up, and tossed the paper at her. She fumbled for the catch, then turned it to read the headline. 

_Ministry Passes Marriage Law in Secret_

Apparently they didn’t utilize researchers for all the laws.

Hermione quickly scanned the article. Low population, fears for magical future, assigned partnerships. She was shocked that people in the atrium hadn’t started rioting right away.

“This completely violates people’s lives,” Hermione gasped. “A law just can’t force people to get married.”

Ron shook his head. “Mum had stories about these laws. They’ve happened before. The last one was passed in the 40s. Apparently after wars the government always needs marriages.”

“I cannot believe that you are defending this sham-”

“Hermione,” Ron snapped. “I’m bloody well not, which you would know if you’d just listen.”

In all fairness he was not, but Hermione opened her mouth to argue anyway. She was raring for a clash. 

“Enough,” said Harry, rubbing his eyes. “We all know it’s terrible. So what are we going to do about it?”

Hermione turned to stare at Harry. Surely he wasn’t joking.

“Well, we’ve got to fight it,” Hermione said after a long pause. Ron nodded across the table. Harry dropped his head to the dining room table, and shook it like a dog did when it was confused. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” he murmured, “if for once we didn’t have to be the ones to save the world?”

“Head off the table, Master Harry,” Kreacher sang out as he burst through the door, levitating a large steak and kidney pie in front of him.

“Thank you Kreacher,” Harry said, sitting up. Even after all these years Harry still answered to him in matters of the domestic. “This looks wonderful.”

“Treacle tart, too, Master Harry, if you finish your dinner.”

Kreacher left after they had dished up their food. Ron whistled.

“How often does Kreacher make your favorites, mate?”

Harry shrugged. “At least once a week. Usually after Quidditch. He says I’ve worked up an appetite enough for it then.”

The floo fired to life again, and Ginny stepped through. She had her long hair tied back in a braid, and was dressed in black muggle workout clothes. She saw the dinner before them and wrinkled her nose. “Steak and kidney pie again?”

“Kreacher says that I need to regain my strength after training,” Harry teased, and took a bite.

“Yes,” Ginny said, sitting next to her fiance and giving him a shove. “You’re the one who needs to regain your strength, after your once-weekly intramural Quidditch league.” She began dishing up her own dinner.

“Why is everyone so quiet tonight?” Ginny asked after she had taken a few bites. 

“You didn’t see the news, did you?” Hermione said. Ginny slowly shook her head no. Hermione pushed _The Evening Prophet_ across the table towards her _._

“They just announced it,” Ron said. “Evidently trying to keep it as quiet as possible.

Ginny’s fork clattered on the plate as she began scanning the headline. 

“Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt announced this evening that he will support the decision made by Wizegmont in regards to the Wizarding Repopulation and Blood Division Act,” Ginny read slowly out loud. “The Minister’s announcement was met with some surprise across political lines, all but ensuring the act’s successful passage… I’ve never heard of this Act before. Had any of you?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I never saw it. This bill was written and debated in secret, and they’re only announcing it now that they are sure it will pass.”

“So we have six months to marry someone of the opposite blood status or the Ministry will select a marriage for us,” Ginny said, then passed the paper back to Hermione. She looked over at Harry and attempted a smile.

“Do you want to floo the reception hall, or should I? I can’t imagine they’ll be all that eager to return our deposit now that no one will be getting married next year.”

“We could keep it and have a proper ceremony next year, and just do the legal thing now,” Harry said.

Ginny tapped her chin. “It would be nice to keep the planning period open.” Hermione cleared her throat. 

“And also, this is a terrible law,” Ginny added. Ron rolled his eyes across the table. 

“Smooth, Gin,” he said, and served himself to another helping of pie.

“What about you two?” Ginny asked, shooting Ron a glare.

“What about us?” Hermione said, feeling even more unsteady. She had a pit in her stomach, and she was very afraid of what Ginny might ask her. 

“Do you have any idea of who you will try to partner with? Assuming the law passes.” Ginny did not say it, but her glance slid between Ron and Hermione.

“No one, if I can help it,” Hermione said. She slipped the paper into her bag, gathered her things, and stood up. “I need to be getting going.”

“No, Hermione, don’t,” Ginny said. 

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Harry said, and he shot his fiancee a look. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hermione shook her head. “I need to do some research. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

She hurried through the floo before anyone could protest further. 

Her own flat was quiet. Crookshanks was sitting in his favorite chair in the living room, watching out the second-story window. After she had graduated from Hogwarts she and Ron had moved in together with Harry. And then they moved into separate rooms. And then they both had moved out shortly before Ginny moved in, Ron to a muggle high rise, Hermione to this old Victorian building.

She had not eaten much dinner at Harry’s, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead she pulled out the paper again. The way that she had always worked and had always won was through research. It was how she operated in Hogwarts, it was her contribution to winning the war, and it was her job now at Magical Law. And if she didn’t know what to do now, it was because she did not have enough research. 

She sat down at her kitchen table and gathered her things- a cup of tea, a muggle composition notebook, a pen, and her most comfortable socks. She cast a duplicator spell on the article so she could keep one clean copy for later. She started taking notes- what she knew, where the holes in knowledge were, who might have more information, where else could she look, what were the right questions to ask. The notes were growing longer and longer, and the article becoming more annotated when there was a knock on the door. 

“Who is it?” she asked, even though she had a feeling.

“Can I come in?” Ron answered. Hermione flicked her wand at the door. The door unlocked and opened. 

Ron was in her kitchen in a moment. “Can I grab a cuppa?”

“Help yourself,” Hermione said, her eyes still on the article. She made little progress as Ron completed his ritual, then slid into the seat next to her.

“Here,” he said, and slid her a fresh cup. “I figured yours would have gotten cold by now.”

“I could have warmed it,” she protested. He didn’t mention that she hated the taste of tea that had a warming spell. They both knew that she did. She wrapped her fingers around the cup, feeling the warmth sink into her bones. Ron took a long, quiet series of sips, then placed his cup down. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Ron finally said, “I think Ginny just meant that we need a plan. A contingency plan.”

“Even though she made no secret about how she wished we could be sisters?” Hermione said, glancing at her socks. It would have been so much easier if she and Ron could have worked out. Everyone always said to fall in love with your best friend. Well, she had, and they tried for a year to make it work. But it hadn’t, and she hated the feeling of failure.

“That was a long time ago that she said it,” Ron said. He grasped her hand and squeezed. “She’s still excited to be your sister. After all, she is marrying your brother.”

Hermione gave a wan smile. “Ron, this law is terrible. Whoever crafted it- it’s bad. Even with the best intentions.”

“So what do we do now?”

“You’re not tired of fighting like Harry is?” 

Ron shook his head. “I went into the wrong field to be tired of fighting. He’ll come around. What do we do?”

“I guess,” Hermione said, “for now, we try to figure out how and why. And who. And then maybe we can figure out how to stop it.”

“I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Ron said, and he wrapped Hermione up in his arms. She let herself stay there for a moment. She wished she felt a quickening of her heart, or butterflies. But it was like how she felt when hugging Harry- just deep friendship. 

Ron did not stay long, and he made Hermione promise she would sleep at some point. She had exhausted her available information by the time he left anyway. She joined Crookshanks by the window. His eyes were fixed on a spot on the street where she knew a rabbit family lived underneath the hedge. 

“One day, Crooks,” she said, petting him. “One day you’ll get them.” 

He purred in response. 

Hermione had wanted to be alone, but she had to admit her flat could be lonely. She tried her best. It had tasteful artwork hung on the walls and bookcases and flowers in a vase on the coffee table. The vase was unbreakable and was charmed to stay on the coffee table, after Crookshanks had knocked it over it so many times. But it was still a bit utilitarian, a bit cold. Hermione had thought a few times about hiring someone to decorate, but it was such an unnecessary expense. She had also thought about asking Ginny, who had an eye for design when Hermione could not, but pride stopped her. 

She should make amends with Ginny, she decided as she walked towards her shower. It wasn’t Ginny’s fault that her relationship with Ron had ended, and it was well past the time that she was allowed to behave strangely about it. Ginny was just behaving like any close friend would. She couldn’t keep holding onto this feeling of failure.

Hermione turned the water as hot as she could stand and scrubbed as hard as she could, until she was dizzy and pink. And then she toweled off and threw on pajamas. She should go to bed, but instead poured herself a glass of wine and sat back next to Crookshanks by the window. She’d go straight to bed after finishing. It was not a guaranteed way of sleeping, but her track record for this technique was fifty fifty. Better than anything else she’d tried.

She should really be better about taking care of herself. Take Ginny up on her offer to exercise, try the meditation that she kept reading about, maybe even get a massage. Meet a man, have a fling. That could be her next project. After she had ensured that the law would be repealed, she would focus on herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess I have two WIPs now. This story is about halfway written, and I worked on it whenever I felt like my eyes were going to bleed from working on grad school applications. I'm very excited to work with a trope that I've loved as a reader, and I hope you enjoy it as well.


	2. The Letter

The _Prophet_ was full of articles about the Marriage Law. Hermione flicked through the paper while waiting in line for coffee at the small shop in Diagon. There was a spike in the sale of love potions- that was no surprise, anyone could have predicted that. There were rumors of a spate of kidnappings to provide half-blood brides to pureblood heirs. No actual names of any kidnapped women were mentioned, making the claim highly dubious. Polling for the law was fifty-two percent positive, forty-one percent negative, with seven percent undecided- who were these undecided idiots? And a rash of engagement announcements to beat the deadline. It was coming in this week, and no amount of research, petitioning, and protesting had done a single damn thing. And her proposal for alternate means of encouraging reproduction was still waiting on a hearing. She was fuming by the time she got to the counter and ordered her Monday indulgence of a vanilla latte.

"Six sickles, miss," the clerk said, and Hermione started to rummage through her bag.

"I'll take care of the lady's coffee," a voice behind her said, and Hermione stilled. She knew that voice, even though she hadn't heard it in years. Even though it was now the voice of a grown man rather than a boy.

Hermione slowly turned to the man behind her. "Hello Draco."

"And anything for you sir?" the clerk asked Malfoy.

"The same," Malfoy said and slid a galleon over the counter. He smiled at Hermione. "You're looking well, Hermione."

He was too, as much as she did not like to admit it. He wore a soft grey jumper that brought out the silver in his eyes, and he was both taller and stronger looking than the last time Hermione saw him. But more so than that he looked healthier, like he was sleeping and eating regularly. That was simply as far as she would allow her thoughts to go in regards to Malfoy's appearance.

The lattes came up and he handed hers over. "Thank you," Hermione said, and took a sip of the coffee. "You didn't have to do this," she said. "I do have the money to buy my own coffee."

Malfoy shrugged and gave half a smile to her. "Consider it as much a peace offering as six sickles can buy."

"Not a marriage proposal?" Hermione asked pointedly. Malfoy gave a harsh laugh.

"No, not a marriage proposal." He shook his head. "My father is currently at Wizegmont, using a fabricated family tree to try to claim that I am a half-blood and therefore am exempt from the law." He laughed, a half cynical sound. "It won't work and everyone knows it but him."

"You don't sound like you're against the law," Hermione said, and immediately regretted her words. "I'm sorry," she said, "that was tactless of me."

"This isn't exactly a Monday morning conversation," Malfoy said and shook his head. "Suffice it to say that I am upset for other people's sake."

"Wouldn't you say you deserve a chance to marry for love too?" Hermione pressed.

"If anyone deserves happiness, I'm far down in the queue," Malfoy said, and studied the gold watch at his wrist. "I apologize, I must be off. I'll see you around, Hermione." He walked out of the coffee shop towards the Leaky. Hermione sipped a bit more out of her latte so it wouldn't be too full, then apparated away to the Ministry. She had much work to do.

Hermione was able to lose herself in work until it was time for lunch. She went down to the cafeteria to meet up with Ron. She was puzzling over the meeting with Malfoy that morning. Had it been a coincidence, or did he mean to see her? And what did he mean by a peace offering? He had sent a written apology years ago after his trial. But she had thought that was a formality, and had avoided him the few times she saw him in public. And where was he going off to? He didn't work at the Ministry, but being awake at a coffee shop on a Monday morning was not a habit of rich layabouts.

Ron was already at the table, working through his sandwich.

"You look preoccupied," he said. "Marriage law again?"

"Oh- yes," she said, not ready to share what had happened. It wasn't really even anything- just out of her expectations. She started to eat in silence.

"You know they'll be announcing matches at the end of this week," Ron said after a few minutes. He was watching her carefully like he expected her rage.

Hermione traced the spoon that had come with her soup. She knew what Ron was about to ask her, and they might as well get it over with. "Ronald-" Hermione said.

"We should at least talk about it, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't fault him with that. He was right. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's talk."

Ron's rigid posture relaxed just a little bit. "I know we ended it because we're better as friends," Ron said. "But this law means you could be paired with anyone. Don't you think it's better to be married to someone who cares about you than someone who wants to hurt you?"

"This law is wrong, Ron," Hermione said. She was tired of this conversation. This wasn't the first time Ron had brought up the topic, but never so bluntly. "I'm not going to do anything with this law without a fight."

"I'm not arguing that the law's not wrong," Ron said. His voice was patient and soothing. He was speaking to her like he used to in school when she was freaking out over an exam, or later when they dated when she would explode with frustration about work. "Of course it's bloody wrong. I don't expect you not to fight it. I'm still fighting it. But there's less than a week left before you're bound to whoever they match you with."

The matter of fact way he was speaking was galling. It was like he had already surrendered.

"You just don't want to have to do the work of wooing a woman," Hermione shot back. Even as she said it she realized that it was a low blow. Ron's face flashed with hurt and annoyance, and then he shook his head.

"If you won't protect yourself by marrying me, then I hope you bloody well choose someone else," he said and stood. He stormed out of the cafeteria. Hermione watched him go, frustrated with him but mostly with herself. Ron was being a good friend. He was trying to protect her. Why did she have to be such a bitch to him?

Romilda Vane two tables over was watching Ron. She then turned towards Hermione and gave a giant wink. Hermione sourly vanished her soup. She was no longer in the mood for lunch.

Ron made a fair point, as angry as Hermione was to acknowledge it. She should, practically speaking, have a backup plan. But Hermione had this searing feeling that if she were to accept a backup plan, it would dilute the power of what she was going to attempt. The only way she could be successful was to continue her single-minded focus. Making a match was tantamount to giving up. She had pulled out so many impossible victories in her twenty-four years of life. What was one more?

Ron would not understand. Ron would worry about her. But Ron needed to worry first about himself- Romilda Vane was after him, it would seem, and she needed to warn him about her. He couldn't hold out for her. Somehow she had to make him accept that. And if she was unsuccessful, the Ministry would hopefully not pair her with anyone too vile.

Hopefully.

Hermione has not slept properly for days. Just an hour here, three hours there. If she did not make progress soon then the law might actually move into effect, in which case her gamble of not choosing a partner would cost her. If only her proposal would be approved for a hearing. Lucius Malfoy's proposal that his son was a half-blood had been heard. It had been rejected- the gossip swiftly and gleefully ringing down the halls of the Ministry. But if Lucius Malfoy's ridiculous business deserved a hearing then surely her well-researched work did as well.

She was at work when she received an answer. An official ministry owl landed on her desk and hooted at her late Friday morning, interrupting her bleary research into old bylaws. Her heart was in her throat. This was it. The answer she had been waiting for. She opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_It has come to our attention that you have yet to register an approved marriage with a pureblood. Therefore, you have been assigned a match to an unattached male pureblood between the ages of 20 and 45. Your future husband is:_

Draco Malfoy

_A meeting has been arranged between the two of you for next Tuesday at 2:30pm. As a ministry employee, you have been excused from any duties._

_We hope this letter finds you well._

_Sincerely,_

_Sharon Misti_  
_Assistant Undersecretary of Marriage  
_ _Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Hermione was certain that it was the sleep deprivation that had caused her to imagine such an absurd letter. She should go off in search of Harry or Ron to read her letter. They'd tell her the contents. But other owls were flying through the office. People were reacting with sighs or hoots or cheers. She rubbed her eyes and reread the letter once, then twice. The words were the same.

She had known she was taking a risk with not choosing a pairing. But she had thought that if a decision was made for her, then history and personality would be taken into account. How could she possibly marry Malfoy. Hermione hurriedly stood up from her desk and slipped on her coat. She had some thinking to do, and she wasn't going to be able to do it at her desk.

She grabbed her bag at the last minute. It was just after four, and she didn't imagine she would be able to return to her work. Instead she slipped out into the atrium, keeping her head down so that no one would greet her. Everyone was so wrapped up in their own conversations she found it easy to sneak out.

She apparated out as soon as she was past security and the anti-apparation wards. She emerged near Round Pound at Kensington Garden and set out for a walk, hoping to perhaps find a nearby tea vendor.

Draco Malfoy. It seemed too great a coincidence that she should run into him earlier this week and now she would be married to him. But the magical community was not large, and she ran into people all of the time. He could have simply seen her and tried to smooth things over in the event they did get matched. But how could things between them ever be a partnership? How could she enter into an alliance with Draco Malfoy? He might have apologized, but that did not take away the harm of what he had done. She didn't know if anything could.

There was a tea truck on a nearby road and Hermione hurried over to it. She ordered a tea with sugar and paid for her own, watching carefully for any hint of ice blond hair. The heat of the first sip washed over her and it momentarily made everything feel relief in her body. Maybe this would be her life now. She would only find pleasure in small moments because her life would be intolerable. She had fought so long and so hard to build a better, more equal society. And that society had turned around and spat in her face.

Hermione resumed her walking, weaving now through the streets of London. She would have to be married to him. She had to live with him- oh gods. She would not return to the manor. No. She would insist on that. If he wanted to live with her he could bloody well sleep on the sofa in her flat, because she would never step foot there again. And when he insisted she would make it unpleasant. She could cause an uproar. She could go to the papers. His position was tenuous enough, and he would have to blink. Yes. If she was going to succeed in this marriage she would need a war chest. She'd have to tell Harry and Ron- who else would be with her?

Ron. She hadn't even asked him yet if he had gotten a letter. She sighed. She had promised to meet Harry, Ron, and Ginny for dinner at Grimmauld Place tonight. All she wanted to do was be alone and plan. But it had been too long since she had seen them, and besides, they deserved to hear it from her.

She pushed aside her guilt. She could deal with that later. She chuckled darkly at the thought of adding "feel guilt" to her mental to-do list. Perhaps Luna was correct. Perhaps she should see a mind healer. Yet another thing to take care of later. Along with finally figuring out how to eat as an adult without elves or parents, getting regular exercise, repealing the law, finally decorating her flat-

Why couldn't she have ended up with someone like Ernie Macmillan? Or even Zacharias Smith? The sun was starting to set and the lamps were being lit. It was a magical moment, when life slowed down and she could properly appreciate how lovely it was for just a bit. But only for a bit. It was only ever a respite for a bit. A respite from her future where she would be Draco Malfoy's wife.

As soon as it was dark enough she stepped behind a tree and apparated to the step of Grimmauld Place. In the past few years Grimmauld Place had become a much lighter, brighter home. Some of that was Kreacher's improved motivation, some Ginny's influence. Hermione reminded herself that she was going to ask Ginny to help decorate her flat. She added that once again to her mental list. Perhaps she ought to start writing all of this down.

She let herself into the house and walked directly down to the kitchen. Kreacher was bustling around, pulling a covered dish out of the wood-burning stove.

"Shepherd's pie again?" Hermione asked. Perhaps her voice was a bit sharp. She tried to soften it. "It smells quite good."

"Roast chicken today, Miss," Kreacher said.

"We're on a moratorium of shepherds pie," Ginny said, stepping out of the pantry. She was carrying a bottle of wine and four wine glasses were hovering behind her. "How are you doing?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell Ginny instinctively that she was fine, that she would be fine, but the words didn't come out. Ginny put down the bottle and walked towards Hermione.

"What happened? What's wrong?"

"It seems like they're already assigning marriages," Hermione said after several large gasps of air. Ginny grasped her hand.

"Who did you get, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. If she said it then it was real in a way she could not take back. She produced the letter from her bag. Ginny grabbed it and glanced over it, then gasped.

"No." Ginny's face was open with shock. "You have to marry Malfoy?"

"There has to be a way to appeal this. Ron was right. I should have made a plan."

Ginny wrapped Hermione in an enormous hug, and Hermione grabbed Ginny back.

"I was an idiot," Hermione said, her voice thick.

"You were idealistic," Ginny argued. "Come on."

Ginny grabbed a corkscrew and started to open the bottle of wine. She poured Hermione an enormous pour, and Hermione drank it greedily.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked after she felt like she could speak. Ginny topped her glass back up.

"He and Ron should be finishing up with their last-minute intramural Quidditch league match any moment."

"Miss will be marrying the Malfoy boy?" Kreacher said happily, as the floo fired up and Ron stepped out.

"Merlin no!" Ron said his face dropping. Hermione shook her head. Ron immediately crossed over to her and grasped her into a large hug.

"What are we going to do?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'll just have to appeal," Hermione said. "Surely no one would think that it is a good idea."

The floo fired once again and Harry stepped out. "Mm, it smells delicious in here. Hey, Hermione. How- are you okay?"

"The Miss is getting married to young Master Malfoy!" Kreacher proclaimed. Harry stared. It seemed that he did not believe Kreacher, because he glanced over at Hermione. She shook her head, and suddenly she had burst into tears.

She was escorted by Ginny over to the table, where she sat, sobbing. And her friends let her. It was a nice thing about them. They had known her long enough to know that she didn't want to be comforted. Kreacher was dismissed, and they waited until her sobs had slowed down.

"We're going to figure this out, Hermione," Ron finally said, "but first, we are going to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"When was the last time you ate a proper meal?" Ginny asked steadily. Hermione could not quite remember.

"You'll feel better after eating," Ginny said. "You can't be as effective when you're hungry."'

"Appealing to rationality is an unfair tactic," Hermione sniffed. Harry grasped her hand.

"Ginny's full of unfair tactics. Come on."

She allowed her plate to be filled with roast chicken and roast potatoes and a salad and then she ate. She intended to only have enough so that she could say she had eaten and that they would work on dissecting what to do next. But after the first bite she found she was very hungry. And she devoured everything on her plate, then took seconds. She had eaten most of her second helping before she wanted to talk.

"There must be an appeal process." She looked up at everyone. "Right?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. "Rumor is that they are not allowing appeals."

"I'll make an appointment," Harry promised. "We will appeal for you."

"I shouldn't be able to appeal when everyone else can." Hermione said. She hadn't thought they would not allow appeals.

"Hermione," Ginny said softly, "if anyone has earned the right to appeal it's you."

"But that's not fair!" Hermione said eagerly. "What about everyone else who is assigned a marriage? What about them?"

Ron stabbed his chicken. "Hermione, when you were researching how to repeal the law, most people were coupling up. We can try to appeal it, but I wouldn't be surprised if you got Draco precisely because the pool of available candidates is so small."

"Who were you assigned?"

"I wasn't," said Ron. "I'm marrying Sally Roper."

"Who?" The name was familiar in the way that a song might be that she had heard only once.

"She was a Hufflepuff in our year. We play Quidditch together. She's currently training to be a Healer."

"Do you- like her?"

Ron shrugged. "She's kind. We get along. It could be much worse. She doesn't really have time for a relationship with her Healing training, and you know I'm almost never home. It will be convenient. The ceremony is happening in three weeks. I'd like for you to stand for me."

"Of course," Hermione said. She felt strange not extending the same offer to Ron. But neither did she want to treat any of this like it was normal or expected, like it was worth celebrating.

"When did you make the decision?" she said instead.

"Wednesday," Ron said, and took an enormous bite off a chicken leg. Why hadn't Ron told her at Wednesday dinner? Oh. She had missed it in a blur of filings. She hadn't even dashed off a note to apologize.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've been a terrible friend."

"You've been a bit busy," said Ron with a wry smile.

"I just- I don't know what to do."

"What we are going to do," Ginny said, "is not talk about this tonight."

"It's easy for you to say. You just move up your wedding date," Hermione snapped.

"That's not what she meant, Hermione," Harry said, and his voice was a warning. Hermione almost never heard Harry like that.

"Hermione even if we spend the entire time talking about it, we can't change anything now," Ginny said patiently. "This is your NEWTS all over again."

"Then what are we going to talk about?" Hermione complained. Ginny was right, and she hated that.

"I was listening to the radio today," Ginny said. "It was the muggle radio. They were discussing some new dance thing. Swan something."

"Swan Lake," Harry said. "It's a ballet. They dance on their toes."

"What if we went? I'd like to see. The music they played was quite pretty."

"A day out in the muggle world?" Ron said. "I'd be in."

"I used to dance in primary school," Hermione said slowly. She had never been a great dancer but she had enjoyed practicing the steps over and over, getting a little closer every time. Her dance stopped when she went to Hogwarts, and she didn't realize how much she had missed it. "My mum always loved the ballet. It's been years since I went and saw one."

"I could buy us tickets," Harry volunteered. "We could have a nice night out."

Ron was soon suggesting restaurants that they could eat at, and Ginny asked Hermione about shopping. Hermione asked Ginny, finally, if she wouldn't mind helping decorate the flat. Ginny was happy to, which was one less thing on the mental list. Kreacher brought out a lemon loaf and tea after he cleared away the dinner. She left Grimmauld late that evening a little tipsy and quite tired.

Appeal the marriage. Feed Crookshanks- that one was easy. If only everything else could be. She had to do some research on her new- she could not call him her finance. She had to learn more about Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I meant to get this one out quickly, and then- 2020 happened. I've learned my lesson about promising quick turnarounds, but I hope to get this next chapter out sooner than this one. In the meantime, please stay safe and make sure to wear a mask.


	3. The Meeting

Chapter Three: The Meeting

Hermione was almost but not quite late to the meeting with Malfoy at two-twenty on Tuesday. She had arrived early in the morning to settle into work so that she could leave straight after. It didn’t matter much. She hadn’t been sleeping well and her attention today on her work had been ferocious. She was sure she looked a fright, and part of that was she hadn’t taken care with her appearance when she apparated out the door at six that morning. Her curls were exceptionally unruly today and her robes were rumpled. It was not the controlled impression she had planned on giving off. 

The ministry summons had been for her and Draco. There was nothing about a solicitor. Hermione could not fault Draco for bringing one. If she had a solicitor she’d certainly bring hers. He likely had one on retainer, while she’d be lucky to find someone she could afford. 

“Miss Granger,” Malfoy’s solicitor greeted her when she entered the room. She was a short and plump woman with a kind face who was dressed in cerulean robes. Hermione took stock of her and immediately was wary. Sexism was not eradicated in the wizarding world, and for her to feel free enough to dress in whimsical colors, rather than the sharp, hard look Hermione was accustomed to seeing with solicitors, likely meant that she was very good. “I’m Mrs. Merits. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello Hermione,” Malfoy said softly. That too was unnerving. Hermione just nodded in response. She was not certain what to do with a polite Malfoy, but perhaps she ought to start considering the option. After all, if would be better if they could be civil, with getting married and all. 

Getting married. To Malfoy. Hermione tamped down a hysterical giggle that threatened to rise out of her throat. She slid down into her seat and glanced around. The door closed and an old wizard, so pale he was almost translucent, cleared his throat.

“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger, to this mediation session. The purpose of this session is to come to a marriage contract that will be agreeable to the two of you.” The wizard beamed, clearly under the impression that this was a possibility. “To begin, we will review the standard marriage contract. You may mutually add to this, but you may not remove points. Shall we commence?”

Hermione was mute. Draco’s solicitor nodded along. The wizard opened a scroll and began to read out loud the contents.

“Point the first, the marriage will be consummated within twenty-four hours of the marriage ceremony.”

Consummation. They began with the exact thing that Hermione was avoiding thinking of. She had never been fond of sex, and now she would have to- couple- with Malfoy.

“Point the second, sexual intercourse for the purpose of bearing a child must be carried out during the witch’s window of fertility once a month until pregnancy is detected. In case of a miscarriage, it must resume within two months, in case of a successful pregnancy, it must resume within six months.”

She would be required to sleep with him multiple times. This was not precisely surprising news, but Hermione had been avoiding thinking about the event. 

“Point the third,” the wizard began, when the door opened and three sleek figures glided in. 

“Mother. Father,” Malfoy said, and he did not seem pleased to see them. “What are you doing here?”

Narcissa Malfoy was dressed like a very stylish cartoon villain, with a sleek dragonhide handbag, a pencil skirt, and gloves. Hermione half expected her to produce a cigarette holder at any time. “Why darling,” Narcissa purred, “we simply are here to support you.”

“Indeed,” Lucius said, and his eyes fell on Hermione. His lips curled, but he said nothing else. Hermione stared back at him. She hoped that she looked resolute and disdainful instead of what she did feel, which was vaguely terrified. 

“Mr. Shock,” Mrs. Merits said, and her voice had lost some of its warmth. “What an unexpected surprise.”

The third figure must have been another solicitor. This one was a middle-aged man in expensive robes, who had a shark-like air to him. Hermine distrusted him immediately. 

“Yes, well,” the elderly wizard said, flustered for a moment before resuming his place. “Please sit so we might continue!”

There was a flutter of movement. 

“Point the third, the couple will be expected to produce four children- two to replace themselves, and two to repopulate the wizarding world.”

Hermione felt faintly sick. Four? She was not even certain that she wanted children at all, and now she would be expected to be the mother to a brood. With the average conception taking up to six months- Hermione felt sick at all the times they would be expected to- couple. Across the table Malfoy looked calm. This was what he was bred for, of course. To carry on the family name. And just as well for him- he wasn’t going to be the one going through the pregnancies and giving birth and- oh God. Did she have to breastfeed? She tamped down another terrified laugh. 

“Oh Lucius,” Narcissa fluttered, and grasped his hand. “We’ll have such grandchildren to spoil.”

“Of course, my pearl,” Lucius said, his gaze still fixed on Hermione.

“Point the forth, there will a fidelity spell placed upon the witch, to ensure the offsprings are of-”

“Excuse me?” Hermione demanded. Lucius’ eyes behind her were glittering.

“To ensure the offsprings are of the Father’s loins,” the wizard continued.

“So I’m to be magically manipulated so that I must remain faithful but Malfoy can sleep with whoever he wants?” Hermione burst out. “That’s absurd.”

“Be grateful, girl,” barked Lucius. “You are getting better than you would with a traditional Malfoy marriage contract.”

“Well, I would never agree to one,” Hermione snapped at him, then turned back to the wizard. “I will not agree to this!”

“Foolish girl,” Lucius sneered. “You cannot accept it, can you? You may have won the war, but in life you will never defeat us. Our ways will flourish for generations and you-”

“Father,” Malfoy said, and his calm tones carried. “You will leave. Mother, you as well.”

Narcissa gasped. “Draco darling, what?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” Mrs. Merits said, “my client has requested that we continue alone. As you are aware, magical law demands that you leave.”

The air was indeed feeling thicker. With one final glare Lucius strode out, followed by Narcissa and the shark-like solicitor. As the door closed Hermione felt as though she could breathe freely again.

“Is there no way to remove the necessity for a fidelity spell?” Malfoy asked the wizard. He paused, seeming surprised to be interrupted. Apparently the wizard was more comfortable being interrupted by men, and so he answered Malfoy’s question.

“No, for it has been deemed a necessity by the Ministry.”

“Then we shall have to add a fidelity spell to me as well,” Malfoy said blandly. “Will you agree to enforced mutual fidelity?”

Hermione furrowed her brow and cocked her head. She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since they entered the room together. 

He looked- well. His features were aristocratic, he was slim but strong, his hair a little less shockingly white. She hadn’t even noticed that unlike his father he was not wearing black. Or robes. He was wearing a grey suit, with a dark blue patterned shirt. The collar was open. He had looked well at the coffee shop too. Hermione felt warm realizing she was lingering attention on him.

Either he had changed as a person, Hermione thought, or he desperately wanted her to think that he had. 

“Yes, I will,” she said. It would likely do no harm, and might even help her in some future situation.

“Well then,” the wizard said, “we have our first added provision!” Draco’s lawyer was hurridly scribbling on some parchment. 

They continued on with the contract, adding what they could. They could not use contraceptive potions or charms. They must live at the same resident, and Malfoy quickly added a provision that Hermione would get approval of wherever they did live. The law did not allow for divorce, but Hermione insisted that should the law be repealed they would be able to file for divorce. Malfoy insisted that an agreement for money be reached, despite Hermione’s hot words that she did not want his money. She thought it might be to protect him, but he said that in the event of a divorce (the wizard reminded them that they would not be able to file for divorce, which Malfoy ignored) that Hermione would be granted a sum of five hundred thousand galleons.

“Malfoy, that’s-” It was almost 2 and a half million pounds. “Excessive.”

Malfoy almost smirked, which was a startling thing to see. It was like seeing the past him for a brief moment. 

“I’ve been accused of being such before,” he said, and flatly refused to reduce the sum. 

The meeting went on for over an hour. Finally, they reached the end. 

“Point the eighteenth, no parent may use grievous body harm on each other, or on the child.”

Hermione snorted. What a thing to make into a law. Honestly, they were savages, all of them. As though she would let her misery affect a child. 

Malfoy leaned forward. “Is it possible to extend that?”

“How so?” Mrs. Milton asked. 

“I want to ensure that no family member is able to harm, physically or psychologically, the children or my wife.” His gaze would meet hers, if she could bring herself to look at him. What sort of monsters were the Malfoys?

“That’s- ah- not possible to write into this contract,” the wizard wheezed. 

“Right,” Malfoy said, and leaned back. “Of course not.”

Mrs. Milton was writing once again. “Your marriage contract is between the two of you. I could draw up a magically binding document for your parents, however.”

Malfoy nodded. “Do so. We can discuss persuasion techniques later.”

“Is there anything else?” Hermione asked. She was itching to leave, to draw a bath and open a bottle of wine and forget as best she could about today. 

“No, no. We’ll send you the revised copy of the contract in two days, and any further revisions are due a week from today. Your ceremony is scheduled for next Friday. Will you be marrying in the ministry?”

Hermione had not thought of the marriage. She wondered what would happen if she demanded a muggle ceremony. 

“If that is alright with Hermione, we will be,” Malfoy said after a long pause. Hermione nodded stiffly.

“Fine,” Hermione said. She had nothing more to say, and so she stood and started to gather all of her things. Malfoy stood when she did, and crossed the room to the door. He opened it for her. 

“Goodbye, Hermione,” he said, and she met his eyes this time. They were calm and controlled.

“Goodbye, Draco,” she said, and hurried out of the room. 

She had planned to escape to her flat. But for what? She could not be alone right now or she might explode. Instead she turned back to the work that was already finished, cross-checking some research. The room was empty by the time she came up from her work and looked around. 

Back in her flat Hermione exhaled. She grabbed a bottle of red off of the kitchen countertop, and started the water of her bath with a wave of her wand. There was a bath potion that turned the bubbles into rose-colored baubles that smelled of jasmine on the edge of the tub, and so Hermione added that. She piled her hair in a bun on the top of her head, and slicked some oil over the ends. She was trying to take care of herself now, because if she had to hear Luna dreamily allude to how stressed she was she might scream. She put on a muggle face mask of clay that her mum had gifted her for Christmas. It was a shame her parents would not be there to see her married. But she did not know how to explain such a thing to them, and they would only worry. She slipped into the hot water, and tried to relax into the heat. 

It felt frivilous to relax like such. It felt frivolous to be so stressed out, even. She had survived a war. She had been a war criminal on the run. To worry about her fundamental human rights- 

Perhaps it was not frivolous.

But Malfoy. Hermione took a deep drink of wine and turned her thoughts back to him. He seemed different. More modest, but also more confident than before. He had stood up to his parents. He had fought for her to be treated well and protected in the contract. He seemed, if not interested in her as a person, at least interested in her being respected as his wife. But was it genuine? And how could she handle being around his parents? It seemed unlikely that she would never see them again. 

She could not be sure. Her conception of him in the past was a dark one, and she didn’t know if she could just throw off that idea. But perhaps he had changed. She could ask around. And if it was a ploy, then what was the payoff?

She needed to stop thinking. Groping for her wand, she pointed it at the small radio in the bathroom. The WWN turned on. 

_ “With reports of lust potions use spiking coming out from around Great Britain. Today, George Weasley of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes says that they will no longer be selling love potions, stating that with the current law mandating partners it would be cruel to continue to carry them. Not all potioneers agree. Skinner, Roe, and Rust, a small potions firm, is proudly advertising that they sell love potions. A spokesperson says-” _

Hermione flicked her wand once more, and the newest song from Eye of Newt was playing from WMO. 

Relax. Right. 

By the time she got out of the tub she had two owls waiting for her. The first was from Harry. Apparently there were no appeals to be had. 

The second was from Malfoy. It was a copy of the contract and a letter.

_ Hermione, _

_ I do wish to tell you that I am truly sorry you had the rotten luck to be paired with me. If there’s any way I can make this easier for you please know that I wish to help. _

_ If you wish to talk more before next Friday, please know I am available for you. _

_ DM _

She did not want to meet Draco. Instead she had a theory to test. She didn’t like being forced into this marriage. But if she was to be forced it was better to be underestimated. She called up a Muggle doctor. She had heard things about more long term birth control methods, and she wanted to be ready for battle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and make sure to wear a mask out there!


	4. The Ceremony

Chapter Four: The Ceremony 

On the day of the ceremony, Hermione woke up without cramps in her belly for the first time in days. The muggle doctor who had agreed to see her quickly had said that discomfort could last for a few days and she had spent all her time at home curled up with a hot water bottle. Thankfully her coworkers attributed her quiet to her upcoming marriage. The contract hadn’t said anything against muggle birth control, and she didn’t think an IUD would be detectable with magic- it was just a bit of copper, after all. But she was absolutely violating the spirit of the law and she wouldn’t be telling anyone. Except Ginny, who had nodded with approval when she came over the past weekend for the two of them to chat alone. 

She refused to wear anything special for this sham of a wedding. She pulled out the same slightly wrinkled robes that she had worn yesterday, a jumper, and a pair of wool trousers. Flat shoes too, even though she did own a few pairs of heels. Her curls were in desperate need of a deep conditioning treatment. That would be for later. She refused to celebrate this day. When she arrived after a scattered morning of work at the records department, she found Draco waiting alone with a small bouquet of irises that he handed to her. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, and a pale cream shirt with the collar open. It was probably one of his less nice suits. He probably had a whole wardrobe full of bespoke suits, and he had pulled out his least favorite for today. 

“Your parents aren’t coming?” Hermione asked. He was standing alone. He shook his head and gave a faint snort of a laugh.

“I did not tell them the date. Otherwise they would attend and I did not think that you would enjoy that. Will Potter and Weasley be coming?”

“No.” They had volunteered to be the witnesses, but Hermione had rejected the offer. She didn’t want them to have to sit through this travesty. She was only there because she had to be. They stood around in awkward silence for a few minutes until they were called into the spare office by the same transparent looking wizard who had overseen their contract negotiation.

The wizard called two employees in to act as their witnesses, and the ceremony began. They agreed to the vows- Hermione had a wild thought about what would happen if she refused, but it would be much harder to fight for the repeal from Azkaban. They signed the contract when directed. Hermione did so with a trembling hand, Draco without any visible hesitation. Then the wizard asked if they had rings.

“No,” Hermione began, as Draco said “yes.”

“Oh good,” the wizard said, and Draco produced a ring box from his pocket and flicked it open. A square emerald was set into the platinum band and was flanked on either side with circle cut diamonds. Hermione disliked that she immediately recognized that it was beautiful. 

“Is it cursed?” Hermione asked, staring at the brilliant stones. She might not have chosen that ring for herself, but only because she could never imagine affording something like this. 

“It’s not. I give you my word.” Draco handed her the box when she hesitated. “We have an appointment at Gringott’s later today. You will be able to have a cursebreaker confirm.”

He pulled out a flat platinum band and slipped it on his own finger. 

“And now you are married! You may kiss.” 

Hermione froze.    
  


“A kiss seals the magic. It’s essential. Go on. Go on.”

Hermione offered her cheek, and Draco gently brushed his lips against it. That seemed to satisfy the magic, for they were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy and ejected from the office. 

“What do you mean, we have a meeting?” Hermione asked when they exited the office. She was still clutching the irises which were somehow still brilliantly crisp. 

“The goblins will need to put you on the vaults, so you’ll have access.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“And I respect that,” Draco said staring straight ahead as they walked, “which is why you are not obligated to take the money. But if you should get yourself into trouble, say, by breaking into a bank, you might find that money will help you. And if you should want to generously fund charitable works, or hire the best barristers to challenge certain laws, the money might help as well.”

“No slights at my clothing?” Hermione asked. Draco’s mouth quirked upwards. 

“As an aspiring gentleman, I would never cast such aspersions.”

“Aspiring?” Hermione said. Draco shrugged. 

“I’ve done quite a bit in my life that’s been ungentlemanly, I think.” 

The contrast between his polite words and the truth of the matter was so sharp that Hermione had to laugh. Draco nodded in one sharp gesture. “I do deserve that,” he said.

“Anyway,” Hermione said, her voice brisk, “I can’t join you, because I am going back to work.”

“Granger, no one expects you to return to work,” Draco said. 

“I expect me to,” Hermione said. 

“What are you doing that you can’t take an afternoon off?”

In all honesty, her boss had told her not to come back that day. There was not much to do. But she hated admitting that.

“Take this afternoon off with me,” Draco said. “We’ll go to lunch, we’ll get reassurances from Gringotts, and you can move in. And we’ll get the business over with.”

“Fine,” Hermione said flatly. She disliked that he had reminded her of the expected outcome of today. “But I will not be moving in, and I get to choose the lunch spot.”

“Wonderful,” Draco said.

Draco, irritatingly, seemed particularly unphased as Hermione apparated them into Muggle London. She guided him to the small shop. “Do you like spicy food?” It didn’t really matter- not much here was spicy. But if he was like the other wizards that she had known he likely had no tolerance for flavor. 

“I don’t mind it,” Draco said mildly. 

“Alright. Then choose whatever you want.” They were at the storefront for Hermione’s favorite falafel shop. Draco was certain to hate it.

“Why don’t you choose for me? I trust you know what’s tasty.”

It was irritating. It was infuriating. Hermione ordered them each a falafel wrap and lemonade, with tabbouleh and baklava to share. The food came quickly and then they sat at the plastic chairs, getting comfortable as best they could. Hermione passed the falafel to Draco, who inspected it, then took a careful bite.

“Oh wow,” he said after chewing and swallowing, his eyes meeting hers. “That’s really fantastic.”

“Why did you get me a ring?” Hermione asked, taking a bite of her own falafel.

“It’s a family heirloom,” he said. “It’s charmed for protection. Against the Malfoy family.”

“Do you really think your parents would-?” She bit into her wrap instead of finishing the thought.

Draco took another bite, and took his time chewing, swallowing, and taking a sip of the lemonade before answering.

“I hope that they would not,” he said. “I’ve made my feelings abundantly clear. And it would be foolish, which makes me believe that they wouldn’t harm you. But if they thought they could, and if I would approve-” Draco hesitated.

“My parents have done terrible things,” he finally said. “So have I. And I am trying to atone for it. I do not know that they are. I only know what they say. So I would rather be foolishly cautious than optimistic.”

“That’s quite a measured statement.”

“I truly don’t know, Granger. My parents and I are- we are not close anymore. I love them, but I don’t hold any illusions about who they are.”

“Doesn’t that make living together awkward?”

“I moved out three years ago,” Draco said, “once my house arrest was over. I hated the memories there, and I wanted to get away. And so I bought a home here in London. I think you might like it.”

“I suppose money covers all sorts of sins.” She did not want to think about liking his house. 

There was that peculiar little half-smile once again. “I likely would not have been allowed to buy from a wizard, you’re right. It’s a muggle house. It’s hooked up to the floo network, but there’s electricity and everything- even the internet.”

Now this was interesting. Hermione leaned forward. “Where is it? Belgravia?”

“Not quite so posh. Notting Hill.”

“Not quite.”

Draco shrugged. “I still think you’ll like it.”

It was quite something to think about liking Draco Malfoy’s muggle home in the undoubtedly expensive part of Notting Hill, but Hermione decided not to dwell on that thought. 

“I would prefer to stay in my own flat,” Hermione said instead. 

“Will I be moving in with your friends then as well? Potter and Weasley should love to have me staying with you all.” It was the first hint of bitterness she had heard in his voice since their short conversation at the coffee shop. “I shouldn't like to be living with an angry ex-boyfriend who hates me for stealing you away.”

“We broke up years ago, so although he’s not thrilled about our marriage there’s no heartbreak there,” Hermione said. She had no idea what game Malfoy was playing, or if it was a game, but she would do her best to meet kindness with- at least not open antagonism. “And I live alone. I have for some time.”

“Two bedrooms?” Draco leaned back.

“One. With a couch in the living room for guests.” 

“Fine,” he said, and the words were clipped. “You do have the right to choose where we live, but I would beg you to consider a better long-term solution, especially when we have one already available.”

“I don’t wish to leave my flat,” Hermione said firmly, and Draco dropped his eyes back to his food. She thought he would continue to fight it, but instead he took a generous bite of tabbouleh. 

“This is quite sharp. It’s refreshing. But none of this is spicy. I was expecting some heat.” 

“Another time,” Hermione said. If getting lunch with Draco was to be a regular occurrence she would hope that he would be brave enough to try out some food other than the dull pub food of the wizarding world. Even the best cooks she knew- Kreacher and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur- barely used spices or chilis or herbs. 

“I look forward to it.” Draco pulled out an actual gold pocket watch and flicked it open. “We have about forty minutes until our Gringotts appointment. Would you like to show me the flat I’ll be living in?”

Hermione put her wrap down. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“What do you mean?” he said after finishing chewing another bite of the tabbouleh. 

“The Draco Malfoy I knew would be throwing a fit. He’d be threatening me with curses and spending all of his money to make sure that he would never have to touch me. What’s going on? Are you going to pretend you’ve always liked me? That you bullied me because of a crush? What is your point in all this?”

Draco carefully wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. He did not need to. He ate neatly, like he did most other things. She had noticed this about him, and she hated that she had. 

“No, Granger, I’m not going to pretend that I’ve always fancied you. It would be cheap, and a lie, and a coward’s way of dealing with the situation. I was a coward and a snit and a terror for a long time. And I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

“So you’ve just turned over a new leaf, and I’m supposed to trust you?”

“You are under no obligation to trust me,” Draco said, and the quiet steadiness of his voice was piercing. “I’ve done some truly terrible things, things that are quite literally unforgivable. I do not expect you to ever forgive or trust me. I am trying to be a better person for myself. You are stuck with me, the last person you deserve. All I want is to make it more tolerable for you.”

“Why?” Hermione pressed forward. It was as if the contours of what she knew about Draco Malfoy were shifting and she had to find out the key to this change. 

“I have not fancied you, but I have admired you.” He was not looking at her, but instead picking at the wrap of his falafel. “Ever since the end of the war. You are brave and kind and good and brilliant, and if anyone deserves peace after the war it’s you. I am none of those things. I am a rich bastard who got off easy because no one expected any better from me. And so, because I got off much better than I deserve and you are being punished for centuries of inbreeding between purebloods, I want to make your life easier. It is, quite literally, the least I could do.”

This was interesting. Hermione was curious how far this generosity could go. “What if I wanted to go to Monte Carlo for a hen night?”

“If you wanted to learn how to gamble, I would offer to teach you. And I would make whatever arrangements you wanted.” He looked up at her and twisted the corners of his mouth upward.

“If I wished to move to Egypt and study the root of Arithmancy?”

“I’ll arrange the visas and the housing- all you need to concern yourself with your work.”

“Overthrow this law?”

Draco’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I was planning on having my solicitor over for tea this weekend, and would love it if you would join. She may have further ideas about how we can proceed.”

“It’s too easy for you to throw money at something and fix it,” Hermione said. Draco nodded and looked down at his hands. Hermione followed his gaze. They were long-fingered and pale, and were full of tension

“As I said, it is quite literally the least I can do. But money is its own form of power, and now that power is at your disposal to use however you want.”

“If I wanted to donate the entirety of the Malfoy fortune?” Hermione raised her eyebrows in challenge. Draco grinned at that suggestion and glanced up.

“Then, unfortunately, you would have to wait for quite some time. It will not be mine in its entirety until it is inherited, and as my parents are still in good health, it could be another hundred years or so. But you could donate all of my money. Within reason. I should still like to still afford to eat.”

Hermione nodded. His parents were another thing to worry about, but she would have to do so another time. “I’ll take you to my flat now.”

They left, Draco insisting on taking the rest of the tabbouleh and the untouched baklava with them. Hermione apparated them away to the flat on the edge of Diagon Alley. 

They arrived on the doorstep of the Victorian building. Draco looked up. “It’s quite nice.”

“One of those old ones that’s now split up. I’m on the third floor. Six units.” They walked together up the dark staircase and Hermione opened the door to him, cringing. 

It wasn’t that her flat was messy. She wasn’t a messy person, not really. But neither was she fastidious- her clothes were usually wrinkled, her hair slightly untidy, books and notes were always out and dishes were never quite finished. In her defense she spent so much time working on projects that it was more of a bother to put away the books and notes than it was worth.

Ron had always found it annoying that she was slightly careless with her possessions. Ginny was the same way- Hermione supposed that growing up poor meant that their items were precious. She had the impression as Draco scanned her flat that he had the same relationship to items as Ron, but for the opposite reason- abundance and display, rather than scarcity and practicality. 

“I would have thought you would have more books,” he finally said, his eyes lingering on the three bulging shelves. 

“There’s more in my bedroom,” she said, and Draco nodded. She looked down at the irises she was still carrying. She supposed she should put them in a vase. But she only had one vase and that one was in use with some mostly still alive daisies. She settled for an empty pint glass filled with water and put it on the countertop and cast a bubble charm around it. It wouldn't do for Crookshanks to try and eat them.

He walked through carefully, looking around. He stopped at the framed print of one of Degas’ dancers. 

“I suppose you own an original,” Hermione said, and could have slapped herself for her tart voice. He laughed, thankfully not taking offense.

“No, I don’t. The Malfoy family was not keen on collecting muggle art, and if I did want to buy one now they’re rather difficult to purchase. Have you seen this one in person?”

“No,” she said, and she did not owe him an explanation. But it was strange being at war with herself, of trying to decide over and over what to give him and what to withhold, trying to tell if he would use the information against her as a weapon or if he was genuine in his aims to change. She supposed she could not know just yet, but the only way he could wound her with this information would be emotionally.

“It makes me think of my mother. She always loved ballet, and she loved Degas. We were planning on going to Paris after I left Hogwarts to see the museums and the dance.”

“I’m sorry. What happened? Was it-” His voice shook just a bit. “Was it the war?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, but she found she did want to tell him. “She didn’t die. I removed my parents memories of me and sent them into hiding. It took quite a bit to fix that. They’ve forgiven me for it, or so they say. But we’re not as close as we once were. Mum doesn’t particularly want to go to Paris with me anymore.” She blinked away tears and turned her eyes away. Draco pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. 

“It can be difficult to reconcile the actions taken and the love that those actions cost,” he said, his voice soft. “But you were brave, and you were right. If they had been found-” Draco shook his head. “You saved them, and the only reason they don’t know that is because they must not understand what was at stake.”

Hermione nodded. She didn’t want to think about her parents anymore, or to take comfort from Draco Malfoy.

“Right. So, if you’ll follow me I’ll show you the rest.”

He followed her without much comment through the rest of the flat, showing him her small bedroom (at least she had made the bed today) and the narrow bathroom that was dominated by the old clawfoot tub. She did not know what else to do.

“How long until the appointment?” she asked.

“About twenty minutes,” he said, and he must have seen the dismay on her face. “But I have a feeling they could hurry us along.”

“Let’s go see,” she said, and they apparated away once again and arrived at Gringotts. 

Draco was right about their status. At Gringotts they were escorted into a private office with a quiet discretion and introduced to a charm breaker who called her Mrs. Malfoy, and pretended not to notice her sour mood. She brought out the ring and the cursebreaker started to perform a number of spells. Nothing seemed to happen and finally the curse breaker assured Hermione the only magic connected to the ring was protective. She still felt faintly concerned, but she slipped it on. It quickly sized itself to her finger. She tried not to look at it. 

Next a goblin gave her paperwork to sign. It was a simple form, assenting that she was the legal wife of Draco Malfoy. After she signed it, her hands still shaky, she received a heavy brass key and a sealed envelope. She was informed that the envelope contained a statement that would reflect the vault’s current levels. 

“You’ll have access to our account, and the Malfoy family vault. I would ask that you do not go to the Malfoy family vault without me,” Draco said. “There’s more than one item cursed against muggle-borns there.”

“What a nice reminder that I’m not wanted,” Hermione said briskly, and shoved the envelope and key in her bag without looking at the statement. She did not need more reminders of why she should be upset or overwhelmed.

“You can sign for any charge in Diagon Alley,” Draco continued after a pause. “And it will be automatically withdrawn from our account.”

“And if I go out to the muggle world?” Not that she would take him up on any offer. But Hermione was curious about how far this generosity would go. 

“I’ve already contacted my muggle accountant and had you added on to the accounts. The cards should arrive at the house within a few days.”

So he had some sort of dealing into the muggle world. This was an interesting bit of information, and she tucked it away for further study.

“Is there anything else we need to do here?” Hermione asked. 

The goblin tending to them shook his head. “Not unless you wish to visit the vaults.”

“Another day, perhaps,” Draco said with a look at Hermione’s face. She was sure the refusal was very clear. He turned back to her. “Should you like to go out to Diagon Alley and do a bit of shopping?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said, and Draco nodded. 

“Alright then,” he said. “Should we discuss moving arrangements?”

“I’d rather just get-” how could she say the word? She couldn’t. “-it over with.”

Draco seemed to know exactly what “it” was. Of course, he’d have to be some sort of daft to not know what “it” was, and she had never taken him as such. They had to consummate the marriage within twenty-four hours. After that a Compulsion Charm would take place, and- well, sufficient to say that if Hermione had to be coerced into sex, she would rather keep her own head about the matter. 

“Of course,” Draco said, and stood and offered his arm. She took it, and she felt as though he was steadying her as they left the bank. They were outside the lobby when Draco turned towards her. 

“I took the liberty of getting us a hotel room,” he said, not quite meeting her eye. “We do not have to, of course. We could return to your flat, or you could see the house. But I thought that you might like to not have these memories associated with where we will live.”

Hermione nodded. “That is-” surprisingly thoughtful. “Well reasoned.”

Draco held out his arm and she only hesitated for a moment before taking it. She was covered by both the contract and this protective ring, after all. They disappeared and reappeared outside a hotel in central London, the sort of contemporary glass building that made her think of businessmen and deals. It was suitably impersonal for what was going to happen between them. 

“After you,” Draco said, and Hermione entered the cold, imposing lobby with her heart in her stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be sure to mention that in this story Hermione is Black. It will be involved a (minor, not involving racism) plot point in the future, and I want to make sure I'm being explicit about race rather than relying on vague hints. I also am a white American woman, and I know there's a chance of making missteps with writing a Black British character. So this is also an invitation to any readers to please feel free to message me if there are things that you don't feel ring true. (Except, I'm very sorry to any British readers, but I will not be using British spelling. I can barely spell in American English. I'm not keeping track of all your extra "u"s in words. Thank you for your understanding.)
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story! Happy New Year to everyone, and please stay safe!


	5. The Coupling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a heads up that this chapter contains non-consensual sex. I use the word non-consensual instead of rape deliberately. This is a situation of two characters being forced to have sex by outside forces (in this case, the marriage law and the ministry). It is about power, but not about the power dynamics between the characters. I’ve focused on this chapter being about Draco and Hermione’s relationship and the effects of the marriage law on it, not on the sex though it is shown “on screen”. The sex scene itself is marked between asterisks and will be the only non-con scene in this work. If this is a trigger or a squick and it’s reading the act itself that bothers you I hope to see you in the next chapter. If the way I’m telling this story isn’t a safe or enjoyable thing for you to consume, I completely understand and hope you prioritize your own health and happiness over reading this work. 

Chapter Five: The Coupling

The hotel room was a suite, of course. It was tasteful enough, a dull expanse of beige with the view of London’s skyscrapers being taken up with the entirety of the floor to ceiling windows. They were on the fourteenth floor of the hotel and Hermione could view a sliver of the Thames if she craned her neck the right way. The suite was so blandly decorated that it must have been meant for wealthy business travelers. It felt the right amount of impersonal for what they were expected to do. 

Hermione sank down onto the couch in the sitting room. Her knees were trembling. “I don’t know-” she started before realizing that she had no plan for finishing that sentence. 

Draco went to the sideboard in front of the couch and opened the bottle sitting on top. He poured a healthy measure into two glasses and passed one to her. Hermione assumed that the ring would stop him from poisoning her, and so she took a healthy swallow. It was muggle whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” he said and sat beside her on the couch. There was the space of a body between them. “This is just another way I will have to hurt you.”

“Did you have to do anything like this before?” Hermione asked softly looking into her glass. She didn’t know why she was asking. The answer could be terrible.

“No,” Draco said, and his voice was flat. “I’ve never raped anyone before. That will be a first for today.”

“Let’s not think of it as such.” Hermione's breath was hitching, and she felt like she might fall into a spiral of anxiety if she let herself linger on her fear. Perhaps another drink of whisky would help. It did. 

“What would you rather me think of it as?” It wasn’t just flatness in his voice. It was fury. Draco was furious, she realized, but not at her like she would have expected. Not for being paired with her, but for having to do this to her. She tucked that away in her brain for later examination. 

“If you are raping me, then I am raping you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Because this is sex under outside coercion. I’d rather think of this as some task.”

Draco gave a humorless laugh. “Trust the ministry to fuck up this up.”

“What would you do if I were someone else?” Hermione asked suddenly. She was desperate for a distraction from the thoughts swirling through her head. 

“Someone else I’d be paired with? I’d still be bloody furious.”

“No,” Hermione said. “If there was no ministry mandate. What would you do?”

“If we wanted to sleep together, you mean?” Draco took another swig of his whiskey. “Care for some more?” Hermione nodded. The bottle flew over and topped the both of them off. He studied her for a long moment like he was assessing a plan of action.

“I’d talk with you,” Draco said, his voice pitched just slightly softer and lower. “I’d try to make you laugh. Kiss you. First a proper snog, then I’d let the kisses linger, trailing downwards. I’d try to charm you. I’d not progress until you wanted me as much as I wanted you. And then-” he shrugged and took another drink and leaned back into the couch. “I daresay you know as well where it would lead. What would you do?”

Hermione tensed. “I don’t know. I was never very good at this sort of thing.”

“Do you want-”

“No.” She did not want Draco to try and seduce her. That would make the whole thing worse, would make a mockery of her feelings. “I’d rather be efficient. In and out, as it were.” She had not realized that she was making the innuendo, and she blushed. 

“Right,” Draco said.

“I think we need a plan,” Hermione said briskly to cover her discomfort. Having a project was always a good way to distract from feelings. “The law mandated ejaculation for you. And I would like as little time spent in-” she hesitated, not wanting to call this sex. 

“Coitus?” Draco’s mouth twisted. 

“That’s the word. As little time in coitus as possible. So I think that if we each commit to getting ourselves ready we can make it rather quick.”

“Right,” Draco said. “That sounds wise. I’d like some rules.”

It was the first thing he had asked of her thus far. “Like what?” 

“No kissing, for one.”

“Worried that you’ll fall in love with me if we do?” Hermione said sharply. Draco glanced over with equal intensity. For the first time since this had begun Draco looked annoyed at her.

“Would you prefer that we blur all the lines? I understand very well why you are upset about being paired with me. And I deserve them. But I would prefer that we don’t make a mockery of intimacy with whatever this will be.”

“Fine,” Hermione said. “No kissing. I don’t expect that would be a problem anyway.”

There was a faint furrow of Draco’s brow, but he nodded along slowly. 

“And as much as is possible, I would prefer for us to be fair to each other here,” Draco said slowly, testing each word before he spoke it. 

“I don’t blame you for this,” Hermione said softly and looked into her glass. 

“Thank you,” Draco said after a long pause. “I don’t deserve any grace but I am a greedy bastard at heart so I will accept. But I meant-” he sighed and placed his glass down. 

“This is also quite new to me. I’ve not had-” he shook his head, and gave her half a smile.  “I don’t know the correct word. I keep wanting to call it casual sex, but nothing about this is casual. I’ve not had sex with a woman without affection before. I’ll do my best but it will be quite unfamiliar to me.”

Hermione turned this over in her mind. It was an interesting component of Draco’s personality. She knew him as a childhood bully, obsessed with status. It was a strange refraction of who she had known to see him in front of her like this.

“So with Pansy and the others,” Hermione started and Draco surprised her by laughing.

“No, never with her,” he said. “We were raised for purity of bloodlines and arranged marriage. That kept the experimenting to a minimum for everyone until our sixth year. Then,” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I had little desire for sex at that time, even if it was offered. Sex and love came later for me than others our age.”

“Who have you been in love with?” she said, taking a swig of her whiskey. She was feeling just affected enough by the drink to ask.

Draco held back and studied her. “I will tell you about my past relationships if you’d like, but not now. I think the last thing you’d want on your wedding day is your husband mooning over old lovers.”

“But who is she?” Hermione pressed forward and Draco shook his head.

“You don’t know her. At least, there is no way that you would know her. It would be a great trick of fate if you happened to, which might actually be included in this cosmic joke.”

Not from Hogwarts, then. Maybe some European pureblood who never left the continent. She wasn’t sure if she did want to know other than as a way to measure who Draco was becoming. 

“Fair enough,” Hermoine said. She took a deep swallow of her whiskey and placed it down on the coffee table. “We ought to get to it. I’d rather not trigger the compulsion charm.”

Draco raised his own glass and finished the contents in one swallow. He placed it next to hers neatly and nodded. “I can take the bathroom. Do you need anything?”

“No. And keep your clothes on,” She added. “That’s my rule. As much as possible.”

“Can’t make it too intimate,” Draco agreed. They looked at each other for a long moment and he stood. “I’ll be just a moment,” he said and left the room. 

* * * * * * 

Hermione moved from the sitting room into the bedroom, which was just as beige as the rest of the suite and had an enormous bed in the center of the room. It was both extremely luxurious and perfectly impersonal. 

Hermione slowly removed her wool trousers and the pants beneath them and let them drop to the floor. She wished she had worn a skirt today. She laid down on the bed and covered herself with the white sheet. It was soft and luxurious, the thing she’d always loved the most about staying in hotels. Her fingers found her clit and she held pressure on it, moving slowly in a circle, trying to make the muscles relax. 

There were spells for that sort of thing, of course. They had received a flyer detailing it shortly before their marriage. But using a spell seemed to make it even more coercive than the sex already was. At least this way she was the driving force behind what happened. 

Draco exited the bathroom. He had removed his jacket and tie and trousers. His shirt collar was slightly open and he was holding a towel in front of his groin. 

“What’s this?’ Hermione asked.    
  


“I didn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities,” Draco said as he carefully approached her. 

“You won’t,” Hermione said, and Draco lowered the towel as he came level to the bed. He resembled other penises that she had seen- erect and thick and not too long. She wondered what it would feel like in her hand. That was an answer she intended to never receive.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked as stood next to the bed. She nodded and lowered the sheet. He glanced over at her for a long moment, letting his glance linger on her exposed legs. 

“Do it,” she said, and he lowered his body onto hers. There was some fumbling, to find where they met, and then he was inside her.

It did not hurt, thankfully. She had apparently relaxed enough. And he was gentle, pushing and pulling in and out just a bit, then a bit more. It didn’t feel unpleasant. In fact, it was more pleasant than she wanted.

“Don’t,” she said and closed her eyes. “Not like that.” He began to pump steadily instead. It did not take long. 

“I”m close,” he promised, and his speed increased to something close to a jackhammer. And then he gave a groan and she could feel him pulsing inside her. She was uncomfortably warm. Once he had finished he withdrew and turned to lay next to her on the bed. He covered himself once again with the towel. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause. “I wish-”

Hermione nodded. If they delved too deep into the psychological implications of what they had just done she might not recover. “Thank you for making it quick,” she said.

“I cast a sensation charm,” he said. “Everything is magnified which makes it much quicker. Is there anything I can do better for next time?”   
  


Hermione did not want to think of this now. “I’ll give you any notes I have later.”

Draco gave a quiet sharp laugh. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly. She knew that it could have been much more terrible, and she was grateful for Draco for trying to make it less. 

His face suddenly looked harsh. “Do not thank me, Granger. I’ve done nothing worth thanking.”

That was not quite true, but Hermione did not feel she could argue that. “I think I need more whiskey,” she said instead. 

“I’ll meet you back in the living room,” he said and left her to rearrange herself. 

* * * * * * 

Draco had refreshed their glasses and cleaned himself up by the time she emerged. She sat at the far end of the couch from him and took the glass he offered. Her fingers were trembling.

“I didn’t think luxury hotels usually provided you with bottles of whiskey,” she said for something to say. Draco leaned back and studied her.

“They do when you pay double the market value for the convenience,” he said. 

She blanched. “What a waste of money.” 

“I suppose so,” he said and tilted his head like he was considering the thought for the first time. “That’s what money does, though. It makes things much more convenient. I don’t have to remember to bring my own whiskey when I can just sign for it. It ceases to have real meaning. When you can have anything that money can buy, what do you want?”

“Sounds dreadful,” Hermione said. Draco laughed. 

“Not most people’s reactions, I must say. But sometimes I do think you are right. It can be a sort of prison. An extremely comfortable prison, and one that is possible to leave. But it is so comfortable that sometimes it’s difficult to remember how it holds me in.”

He turned and looked at her. “I only grew up knowing other rich purebloods and Victorian ideas of muggles. How did you grow up?”

Hermione paused at this question. It was against her idea of Draco to share anything that he could use. But she was curious about him now. Was he as changed as he claimed to be, and what would he do with the information she gave him?

“Let’s play a game,” she said instead. “Two truths and a lie. I’ll tell you three statements and you have to guess which one is false. If you get it wrong you drink. If you get it right, I drink.”

“Only if we take turns,” Draco said. Hermione agreed to this and leaned back on the couch with her drink.

“Right,” she said and cast her mind about. “I grew up in Nottingham, my parents are the muggle equivalent of specialty healers, and I danced the role of Clara when I was nine in  _ The Nutcracker _ .”

“What specialty?” Draco asked, leaning back.

“That’s against the rules,” Hermione said. “No clarifying questions.”

“Tricky,” Draco said and studied her for a moment. “You didn’t grow up in Nottingham. You speak like you’re from Oxford.”

“Wrong, mi duck,” Hermione said, letting herself slip back into the parody of her hometown’s accent. “My parents were very self-conscious of their own accents. They drilled the Queen’s English into me from a very young age. My mum also had me study ballet because she was never able to as a child. I had no coordination. I was always placed in the background in recitals.”

“And what specialty are your parents?”

“They’re teeth healers.”   
  


“So you’re an ex-ballerina from the Midlands with dentist parents. How surprising.” Draco took a swallow of his whiskey. Hermione’s eyes narrowed just a bit. It was curious that he knew the correct terminology. “I suppose it’s my turn.”

He settled back onto the couch and ran a finger around the rim of the glass. “I support the Chudley Cannons in Quidditch, my favorite muggle novelist is Jane Austen, and I spend my days managing the various estates my family owns.”

There was a hint of bitterness with the last one. “You’ve said Jane Austen’s name too confidently for that to be a lie,” Hermione said slowly, “and I can’t see you supporting the Cannons. I’m sorry.” 

“I believe you’ll have to drink for that,” Draco said, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, and he laughed.

“They are the closest thing I had to a hometown team,” he said simply. “But you can’t tell anyone. It’s a very private, intimate support. It would ruin my reputation.”

“You read Austen then?”

“She’s the sharpest observer of people I’ve ever read,” he said. “I would love to have her write novels about pureblood society. She would draw blood from the page.”

“If you don’t manage the estates, what do you do with your time?” 

“I work,” he said, and he gave her a sharp smile. 

“Where?” 

“I thought you said no clarifying questions,” Draco said but with a smirk that was almost teasing.

“Fine,” Hermione said and sipped her whiskey. “My favorite book is  _ Hogwarts, a History _ , my grandparents moved to Britain from Jamaica after the Second Muggle World War, and I don’t support any quidditch team.”

“I don’t believe that you don’t support a quidditch team,” Draco said. “You were always at every match.”

Hermione took a drink of her whiskey. “I follow the Harpies. But I was at every match because of my friends, and I support the Harpies for Ginny. Weasley,” she added on, realizing that perhaps he did not remember her.

“She’s an excellent chaser,” Draco said. “I’m sure she’ll be starting next season. Does this mean you attend the games?”

“Sometimes,” Hermione said. “When there are tickets available. Other times I just listen to the games on the wireless at home.”

“If you’d like to go to more games I can certainly arrange that,” Draco said. 

Hermione was sure that those tickets would be in a proper box, not whichever bleacher seats were available for Ginny as a reserve chaser to give away. She had wanted to go to more games. She somehow had learned to enjoy the sport. But her ministry salary couldn’t afford regular quidditch games as an indulgence and while she could likely ask for and receive free tickets from the Harpies, those would come with invisible strings.

“Your turn,” Hermione said in lieu of an answer and waved her wand to pour them both more whiskey.

“Let’s see. I broke my arm at seven falling out of a tree and didn’t tell my parents for a day because climbing trees is unbecoming, I am banned from ever holding a ministry position, and I spent my house arrest studying for my NEWTS.”

“That one’s too easy,” Hermione said. “I was there for your sentencing. You received a decade ban and then the opportunity to appeal with good behavior.”

“That’s what they say, but the effect is rather different. I will never be allowed to hold a ministry position. I believe that means you have to drink,” Draco said with an imitation of a casual nature. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“That’s not the spirit of the game,” she said. Draco shrugged. 

“It’s the truth no matter what the sentencing read. I have the opportunity to appeal- what chance do you think an appeal will be successful? And even if I successfully repealed my ban, what chance do you think that I will be hired? Who would stick their neck out for me?”

Hermione frowned. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”

“I made my fate. It’s more than fair.”

“So which is it the lie then?” Hermione was not certain how to feel about Draco’s sentence. 

“I never took my NEWTS,” Draco said. “I suppose I still could if I wished to, but there didn’t seem to be a point to them. I contracted a private tutor instead and began studying the muggle children’s curriculum.”

Hermione took a sip. “And how did that go?”

“It was quite a bit of work to convince a tutor that I truly needed the help,” he said with a wry smile. “But being born to rich eccentrics is an acceptable excuse for all sorts of ignorance. I ended up taking my A-levels in Chemistry, Physics, and History.” He hesitated.

“I’m actually at university right now. I’m studying theoretical physics.”

Hermione felt as though she could not quite make her brain function. It might be the strangeness of the situation, or perhaps the whiskey. “Please tell that to me again.”

“I’m in my second year at uni,” Draco hurried on. “When I started to learn more about the world I got curious, I suppose you could say. I never thought of magic as anything other than natural, but the more I learned about the muggle world and science the more extraordinary I found it. And so I wanted to find a way to study it in a different way than I could have if I had stayed in the world I lived in. So, theoretical physics. Magic is just energy transformed, after all.” He shrugged.

“Of all of the ways that you could have surprised me this might be the largest,” Hermione said slowly. Draco gave a sharp laugh.

“I thought about studying history,” he said. “But that seemed much more like a penance and less of a pleasure. Perhaps I should have become a historian and written books. What wizards can learn from post-Nazi Germany and that lot. Under a pseudonym of course. No one would read it as scholarship if they thought it was from me.”

Hermione frowned slightly. “Because they should think that any book you write would be in support of Voldemort. What would this book say?”

Draco sighed and clasped his hands around his glass. “We need a reckoning,” he said. “If there are calls for unity without consequences then the thoughts, behaviors, beliefs- they’re all just pushed down and veiled into more polite ways of expressing hate. I was raised in that environment. I knew there were things I wasn’t allowed to say out of the home because they might hurt my father’s reputation, but we still said them in our circles.”

“Like mudblood,” Hermione said. Draco winced and nodded. 

“Yes. But questioning if a muggle-born could be good at magic was allowed. Talking about preserving our culture was allowed. Allusions to muggle-borns stealing magic was allowed, as long as you were just curious.” He said those last two words with a sharp, angry smile. “It just made the prejudice ferment into a more precise form. Talk of unity, of coming together- it’s all bollocks without any teeth.”

“So what should be done?” Hermione said, trying to keep her curiosity neutral. This was some change in him that was far greater and more meaningful than she could have hoped. And yet, she reminded herself, that did not mean he was telling her the truth.

Draco leaned back and studied Hermione for a long moment. “I got off easy, Granger. I had to pay a fine that’s less than a percentage of my Gringotts account, stay home for three years, and report my movements if I go abroad. I cannot hold a ministry position and must meet with an auror every year for the next four years of my parole to ensure that I’m behaving. That is nothing. My sentence is a slap on the wrist that can be overturned if the wrong person comes to power. It’s not a consequence. It’s an annoyance. How can that be expected to stop anyone from doing what Voldemort did again?”

“What do you deserve then?” Hermione said softly. Draco shook his head and dropped it.

“Please don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t behave like you sympathize. You of all people should hate me.”

Hermione nodded along. “Perhaps. I did for a long time. But I found I didn’t like the feeling of hating. It was ripping me apart.” Hermione hesitated. “Do you feel remorse?” 

Draco raised his glass and drained it in a motion then placed it down with a precise chink. He watched the glass as he spoke. 

“Two truths and a lie. I regret my decisions every day, I do not deserve the leniency I have received, and I sleep easy knowing what I’ve done.”

Hermione finished her own drink and poured them another round. The bottle was almost halfway empty, much more than she usually drank. “I do not know if I can trust you, I do not know who you are anymore, and I won’t change my opinion of you if you have indeed changed.”

Draco looked blankly up at her. “Well,” she pressed after he did not respond, “which one is the lie?”

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said. His eyes had slid to a space that was near her face but not, probably looking at one of the tastefully bland paintings in the sitting room. 

“I’m not saying right now that I forgive you,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady without impatience or emotion. “I am saying that your opinion of what you deserve has no bearing on if I decide to forgive you.”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. “I am so sorry,” he said, looking at her once again and meeting her eye. “For everything.” He took a shuddering breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Hermione looked away to give him the privacy of his feelings and didn’t respond until his breathing returned to normal. 

“I understand,” Hermione said, and they each took an unsteady drink of the whiskey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know Hermione’s reaction to Draco in the last chapter was a little polarizing, and I hope that this did more to put it in perspective. Please stay safe out there and wear a mask, and I’ll see you back here soon.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess I have two WIPs now. This story is about halfway written, and I worked on it whenever I felt like my eyes were going to bleed from working on grad school applications. I'm very excited to work with a trope that I've loved as a reader, and I hope you enjoy it as well.


End file.
